Oft

Oft will the shining coals,
Lifting the heat barely,
Maybe the raw desires of Our minds
will burn their needs in our palms.
Or maybe the cinders will moulder
on way past the witching hour

~Oft We seem to be here and never are
Then We look again
and find that the curve in the road
was not there,
Did the sheep grazing at the side of the Way
Look up and bleat..
As sheep always do
Where is the tiger amongst them
can there ever be one,